Poisons, II
by Silverr
Summary: Monte Cristo's voice will be her undoing. ** Spoilers for episodes 7 and 8.


Disclaimer: _Gankutsuou: The Count of Monte Cristo_ is copyright Mahiro Maeda, GONZO / Media Factory, GDH, Geneon, and Funimation. No infringement or disrespect of owners of existing copyrights in _Gankutsuou_ or its derivative works is intended by this non-profit, noncommercial amateur fan fiction.

Description: Monte Cristo's voice will be her undoing.

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**Poison, II**

_by silverr_

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"Everything is poison, there is poison in everything. Only the dose makes a thing not a poison."

_Paracelsus_

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In those first moments, Héloïse heard only two sounds: her heart drumming from terror, and the dark tide of his voice, sliding across her, the first wave softening her terror, the second washing it away.

His voice was nothing like Gérard's. Gérard's voice had never made her feel so comforted, or desired, or understood.

She wanted to slap Victoria for interrupting it with her avid fawning.

Edouard squirmed under her grip. She barely heard what he said to their savior's servant, but she apologized all the same; and when the voice came again, saying, "Curiosity is a sign of intelligence," it was as if he had seen through time to her past, seen that day when her dissertation adviser had tossed "Uses of Affinity Electrophoresis in Analytical Chemistry" into the trash, saying, "Teaching women is a waste of classroom time. Sooner or later the only thing that engages their curiosity is estimating the size of a man's cock from his bank account, and _vice versa_."

Victoria introduced their savior as Monte Cristo, and she blushed as she recalled the gossip that named him the wealthiest man in Paris. She was dimly aware that Victoria was talking, that she herself was talking, but she was deaf to everything but that voice, curling around her throat like a choker of black diamonds, offering to take her home.

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Edouard was a nuisance, throwing himself onto the floor of the Count's carriage in a tantrum, beating his heels and fists. "A car!" he demanded. "A red car!"

Monte Cristo said nothing, and his silence was a reprimand. He was reluctant to come in the house, but she must, she must have more of his company! She entreated boldly, and happily he relented.

The inside of the house was chilly and silent. She sent Valois off to make tea, gave Edouard his car, apologized for her stepdaughter. "I try to raise her to be sociable, but it's so difficult." She spun out the conversation, desperate to keep bathing in his voice.

And he? It seemed he was not averse to her, even going so far as to say that he found her pest of a son charming.

"To apologize for his rudeness, shall I show you my secret place?" she asked. It was a thin excuse, she knew it, and he did as well. The way his eyes – those strange eyes, acid green, blood red – widened, the way he said "Oh?" – he had interpreted _secret place_ not as she had meant, but as most men would. The thought made her throb.

"It's a modest little refuge," she said, maintaining the illusion of propriety.

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The sound of him naming her children – _belladonna. mandragora, datura – _was a caress, the vibration of his voice brushing her neck, circling her waist, making her breasts ache.

He reached past her, plucking a bloom of monkshood. "Their beautiful petals conceal a deadly poison."

"I had no idea," she said. "My love of flowers grew into a love of botany. But … it isn't a woman's place to be interested in such things, in science."

"Such as chemistry? And toxicology?"

"Why would I be interested in such things?"

He held up the very vial of cerberin that she had distilled that morning. "Is there anything more enticing than poison? A drop that steals away a life in an instant? A long series of secret ministrations that leave no trace? To master poison requires an intelligence and control of human passions that is far above the ability of most mere mortals. To master poison is – _divine_."

His words penetrated her, his insinuations probing, insistent, menacing, making her breath catch in her throat, uncurling the heat between her legs.

"There is one thing more enticing than poison," he murmured, and she shuddered. "The dangerous beauty of those who have been captivated by poison's charms." He was pressing against her, his lips brushing her ear. "Don't you agree?"

His words trickled into her like poison.

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_~ The end ~_

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Written for Kink Bingo round 3, card 1, kink 2,2: dirty talk

AN: Last line doesn't feel quite right, but it is what it is.

(05) 26 Aug 2010 ~ fix prompt


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